Page 49 of Heir of Autumn
“Yeah,” I said, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself.
So, so elated that she took precious time out of her busy schedule to threaten me a little. But no sense ruining a good time. Would Sylvain even believe me, or would he get defensive? Maybe I’d just misinterpreted courtly discourse somehow, or misunderstood their intentions, Yvette and Aurelia both.
And besides, Sylvain was dying to show me his bedchambers. I figured it was fair to assume that he wasn’t just planning on giving me a tour, but possibly a proper fucking, too.
He opened the door, and to my delight, it was exactly as I expected. Sylvain’s bedchambers were lavishly decorated: deep red velvet chairs and couches, swaths of silk draped from the windows and the four-poster bed, and accents in brass, from the dresser knobs to the candelabras.
No wonder he felt so at home in my bedroom. My own chambers weren’t so different, apart from the color palette, the emerald and gold of the Wispwood as opposed to the red, brown, and brass of the Autumn Court. Okay, everything here looked twice as expensive as well, but who was counting?
“It’s cleaner than I expected,” I joked, giving Sylvain a wry grin when he shot me a defiant pout.
“Warrior-princes are very neat indeed,” he said. And then, under his breath, he added: “Also, the palace servants are very, very good.”
Extremely good, actually, not a single thing out of place, no clothes strewn on the floor, no towels slung over the backs of chairs. And there it was again, the faintest hint of cinnamon and clove, of faded flowers, scents that I’d begun to associate with the Amber Pavilion.
And everywhere, set all over the furniture or affixed in holders, were more of the ever-present candles. The flicker of their little flames bathed the brass and polished wood of the chambers in an amber glow, casting gleams and sparkles down the tall panes of glass that led to a small outdoor garden.
“This is my favorite part of my bedchambers,” Sylvain said, guiding me toward an alcove. Imagine having a bedroom with its own foyer and alcove. What a spoiled, lovely brat my prince was. He gestured at the wall with a flourish. I gasped.
“Oh. Oh, goodness. That’s — well, it’s pretty racy, isn’t it, Sylvain?”
“Indeed it is. Behold, my vulgar tapestries.”
And so I beheld this mesmerizing wall-hanging and its multitude of humanoid figures. Each was rendered in artistic, almost tasteful geometric shapes, a stylized aesthetic that reminded me of ancient Grecian art. And each figure was also bent into decidedly tacky geometric shapes, demonstrating a mind-boggling array of sexual positions.
“Gods, Sylvain. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t your mother flay you alive if she saw this in your chambers?”
He placed his hands on his hips, chest thrust out proudly. “Correct. Which is why I keep it so hidden. But there’s much more to it than meets the eye.”
Sylvain threw his arm out, grabbed the edge of the tapestry, then pulled hard. My heart leapt as I watched for the inevitable rip, but the entire thing creased and folded sideways instead, exactly like a curtain. This thing was just a cover for — oh. Oh no. I placed my hands over my eyes, letting out a nervous chuckle.
“Behold,” Sylvain announced. “Locke, I said to behold. Look.”
I took my hands away, not wanting to be rude, and slightly regretting it anyway.
“Behold. My vast collection of ribald etchings.”
Vast was right, and so was ribald. Sylvain must have run out of room on these secret shelves at some point, which was why he decided to seek out and secure his beloved grotto. There were just absolute stacks upon stacks of porn, both vintage and contemporary, filed neatly onto the shelves.
Of all kinds and flavors, too. Prince Sylvain, horniest fae noble in a three-hundred-mile radius, did not discriminate. Hairy? Check. Heavy bondage? Also check. I shook my head, horrified, impressed, fascinated.
“You know, Sylvain, back on Earth, some might call this a bit of an addiction.”
He scoffed. “Hardly. I’ve perused most of these volumes just the once, and I mainly keep them here for posterity. I simply like collecting them. Nothing quite like the real thing, don’t you know?”
“Oh, I know.” I nudged him in the chest, smiling bashfully. “I definitely know.”
I went down the aisle, casually perusing the magazines, doing my best not to look so scandalized. These were only images of the human body, after all. Very naked ones, at that. Wait.
Except for this one.
I picked up the loose sheet, stiffer than paper, not quite as thick as cardboard. It was a printed photograph. I held it up toward Sylvain, frowning. His eyes went huge.
“Sylvain? Care to explain this?”
He snatched it from my hand, cheeks blushing rosy red as he hugged it to his chest. “I meant to put that somewhere more meaningful. More prominent. I keep forgetting.”
“Oh, Sylvain.” I beamed at him, my chest burning warmer. “I don’t know what to say.”
